Letters to Sam
by Nirin Tani
Summary: At the end of Gone Home, Katie has a few answers, but far more unanswered questions and a sudden pile of responsibilities she never anticipated. These are the letters she writes in response to Sam's entries to her.
1. June 7, 1995 (morning)

June 7, 1995

Sam,

I am so tired. Worried, angry... but mostly exhausted.

When I got to the house, it was raining sheets, and my luggage and I were soaking wet in just the short dash to the porch. Bad enough, but I PANICKED when I saw your note. "I don't want anyone to know where I've gone" is not reassuring, not even if you also say "don't worry." Not ever, but especially not to big sisters.

And then the door was locked, and nobody answered my frantic banging on it, so, yeahh, panic. I was about to hurl Christmas Duck through a window! Thankfully I noticed the spare key as I picked him up. Sheesh.

For the next two hours (did I mention I got there at like 1 in the morning?) I stumbled around this unfamiliar house, dripping, worried sick, trying to piece together what had happened while I was gone, where you were-

Yes, you said not to dig. But I think you know that'd never dissuade me. I care about you too much! And when I finally found your journal, and its "read only if you're Katie" label, I knew that you knew, and hoped you'd know that I knew that you know

sorry. Tired.

I read your entries with my heart pounding. I cringed for you about everything at school, I got choked up for you and Lonnie, I wished I could've been to those shows (I bet they rocked!) But more than anything, I got more and more scared. Kids in situations like yours sometimes do worse than run away, you know?

If you hadn't caught that last call, would I have come back to

...no, I don't even want to think about it.

So it was a huge relief, like, no-the-baby-isn't-going-to-get-turned-into-a-goblin relief, when I read your last entry and learned you're still out there. And you've got Army tough, patriarchy-kickin' Lonnie looking out for you.

But now what do I do?

I love you. I miss you so much. And I am freaking out that you have no idea how, no way you can possibly know you'll keep that promise we'll see each other again—It's maybe like you felt when you thought Lonnie would be "just gone." But, in a sister way?

You offered your room, but that'd just be too weird right now. So the guest room it is. Shoved the boxes around, laid down, wrote you this letter that I have no clue how to deliver to you.

I don't know if I'll even be able to fall ash


	2. June 7, 1995 (evening)

June 7, 1995

Dear Sam,

I slept a few hours, I guess until the storm let up, then spent the day cleaning the house.

Well, not CLEANING cleaning. This is a huge house, after all! I'm not some manic maid robot like Rosie from the Jetsons. More like... erasing evidence.

Though when you put it that way..

this is SUCH a bad idea, Sis. Seriously.

But I'm trying to honor your wishes here. I'm scared stiff thinking what might happen to you out there, and I think you're making a huge mistake just VANISHING without any way to contact you (plus that Reed scholarship! Jeez!). But. I can tell you and Lonnie love each other, and it's your mistake to make. Heck, one more year and Mom and Dad couldn't even legally stop you, right?

But you left all these clues... not just the journal, but all these little things, old secret notes and drawings and stories and stuff. Stuff that says a lot about what you and Lonnie might do, where you might go. I found your locker combination, for crying out loud, you think Mom & Dad wouldn't? Or the police?

Who am I kidding... they'll just take a bolt cutter to the lock...

You really didn't think this through, did you?

Of course not, you were... in a hurry.

And in love.

But I'm just saying. DID NOT THINK.

Anyway, for what it's worth I gathered all the clues—all the papers, the pictures of Lonnie, the buttons, the mixtapes, and bundled them up in one of your old backpacks and stashed them in one of the secret panels you and Lonnie (and I) found. I deleted the first couple messages from the answering machine. I'll put these letters away too, for now.

Maybe it'll slow them down, at least. If they notice something missing, they'll probably figure you took it with you.

You see what you've gotten me into, Sam? I went on my adventures, but I was always the "good" sister and now I'm concealing evidence from the authorities. Accomplice to one Army recruit's going AWOL and one really fantastic but REALLY NOT THINKING talented young writer committing... whatever the official crime term is for what you're doing.

...oh god. what if they think she KIDNAPPED you?!

Mom and Dad will be back soon. I've got to figure out what I'm going to say, what my plan is. And, like, practice it.

I love you. I'm doing this because it's my best guess at what you'd want me to do. I hope that counts, I hope you appreciate it.

I miss you.

Please don't die in a ditch somewhere before I see you again.

Your big sis,

_Katie_


	3. June 8, 1995

June 8, 1995

Dear Sam,

Mom and Dad came home today.

I knew they'd be coming, from the calendar and all, so I waited in the foyer and sort of rehearsed things until I heard the car coming up the drive. Then I sat down on the stairs with your note from the front door in my hand and waited for the emotional roller coaster ride to start.

And oh boy, did it.

When Mom and Dad came through the door, they were... HAPPY. Dad held the door open for mom and then carried their bags in, all with this goofy smile on his face, and she said something to him that I didn't catch, but they both laughed—

Weird, right?

Then Mom caught sight of me and was all, "Oh, Katie! You're back! We had no idea you'd be here so early in the month, sorry we weren't here to meet you..."

And then they both got a good look at my face. I didn't need to fake anything there. I hadn't slept much or well, and I'd cried a little, waiting there with only that little scrap of you, your handwriting I mean, to keep me company.

"What's wrong?" Dad this time. A beat, then: "Where's Sam?"

I handed him the note, and I hugged Mom, and went to pieces over her shoulder while they read it.

The next hour or so is kind of a blur. They argued back and forth a little, Mom cried and held on to the paper with her hand trembling like it WAS a suicide note, and Dad asked me questions but I acted like the note was all I'd seen or knew.

Like you wanted me to.

Eventually they did decide to call the police, and some people from Missing Persons came and—investigated. They asked us lots of questions, they turned the place upside down (they cut open your locker, I TOTALLY called it). I had an excuse, I wasn't here all year, so they didn't spend all that much time on me and I didn't have to lie TOO much.

Mom and Dad, though, they went to town with.

It didn't take long for them to point fingers at "that Lonnie girl." Something like this...

Cop: Lonnie?

Dad: It was short for something. Yolanda, I think...

Cop: Last name?

Mom: I don't remember. It was on one of those slips from the principal, though, if I can find it.

(She won't, of course. I hid it with the rest)

Cop: So she was another student? A classmate?

Dad: Yes, at Goodfellow. They were... very close friends.

But Mom gave him this look. You know, that young-lady-maybe-you're-not-lying-but-you're-not-telling-the-whole-truth look. I've never seen her use it on DAD before. And then he said, "They were, ah. Romantically involved."

Sam, I wish you could've seen his face in that moment. There was anger, yeah, and worry, but also a sort of regret? And remember your April 22nd entry, "A Very Long Phase"? This means they're PAST that, at least a step. Maybe something happened between them on their anniversary trip, or you managed to shock them out of it with this stunt, but it's something, right?

Eventually the police left. Eventually we had a sort of somber heat-and-eat dinner where we tried to talk about my trip but nobody really felt like talking. And eventually Mom and Dad headed to bed and I settled in to write this letter.

Today—

That moment with Dad gave me hope. I think we can FIX this, Sam.

...if it weren't for the imminent manhunt, I guess.

I wish you'd come home.

Love you,

_Katie_


	4. June 11, 1995

June 11, 1995

Dear Sam,

It's been a couple of days. I tried to write every night like I did right after getting back, but I couldn't get my thoughts straight for more than a few words at a time, and I'd fall asleep with nothing but a page full of scratched-out and struck-through gibberish.

But now I think I've got it.

I said in that first letter, you have no way you could promise me we'll see each other again, ever. Not without a plan, without a means of contact. But you pleaded with me in your going away note, you left the journal for me, you said you'd see me again... not Mom & Dad, not Daniel, but me.

So it's on me, it's up to me. I'm gonna come find you, sis.

I'm an experienced traveler, now. I know how to get around on the cheap, I know how to stay safe, I know the mistakes you and Lonnie are likely to make. And heck, something in me lit up while I was exploring around Psycho House trying to figure out what happened. Maybe sleuthing is my thing. My calling?

So I'm packing my bags again, this time including the Bag o' Clues I put together, and hitting the road.

I don't know how long this will take. I'll probably need to hole up and make money sometimes—Mom and Dad don't have that much spare to speed me along with. But I'll make it work. (And I'll call them to let them know I'm okay, get it?!)

Maybe I'll find you in Salem, stuck there when the Army caught on to Lonnie day one and dragged her in.

Maybe I'll catch up to you road-tripping as groupies to one of these riot grrrl bands. Or auditioning for one. Or leading your own.

Maybe I'll find you in 2015 when we're all in our thirties and forties and the nation runs on cold fusion and nobody has to work anymore. (Ha ha.)

Or maybe I'll meet you and Lonnie in your golden years, happy together as ever, in a feminist commune in the wilderness somewhere.

But wherever and however it happens, I'm going to deliver these letters in person, and tell you everything's going to be okay, that your family loves you and people can change and if my little sister is head over heels for somebody then she's gotta at least be all right. Because that's what big sisters do.

And then we can all go home. Together.

See you soon,

_Katie_


End file.
